The Love Story of Tuor and Idril Celebrindal
by Faenannungil
Summary: Upon meeting Idril, Tuor is stunned by her beauty. Everything about her enchanted him, from her hair to the way she laughed. Knowing his love could never be returned she becomes his friend, who she confindes in with all her secrets save one that begins to make distance between them. Could she too be harbouring secrets of an unrealistic love?
1. An Introduction

_FA 496_

An Introduction

The might of Turgon of Gondolin had not yet be laid before Tuor until he was received by th king with the twelve lords by him and his daughter by his side, by Voronwë's account. He had described the traditional ceremony ways after the arrival of a lord to the City of Gondolin, after the King made it clear that Tuor was in his opinion a distinguished guest. Upon immediate arrival in the city Tuor had met him and he delivered the message of Ulmo. Already he had met Maeglin, who sat to Turgons right and argued against the council of the Valar. The following day Voronwë woke him, informing him that they had received summons from Turgon to be officially received by him.

As the sun warmed the stones that made the Kings Way, Tuor tread them and Voronwë described the process of reception into the Kings Halls.

"Firstly, you will be showed in and bow, I would recommend you bow lower than what you would consider necessary, knowing you." Voronwë instructed his friend. "You will then, presumably, be introduced to the Lords of the Twelve Houses. These are the Lords most favoured by His Majesty, and are the most powerful elves in the City (other than the King) and it would be unwise to displease them. Answer any question they ask of you, save rhetorical ones, and leave any sarcastic wit you still hold onto at the door."

"So the Lords care not for humor?" Tuor inquired.

"No, that would not be entirely fair." Voronwë replied. "However, everyone has their own forms of it and few people born into wealth much enjoy others laughing at their own expense."

"Are all of them alike to the image you are giving them, Friend?"

"There are one or two who are fine." Voronwë answered. "For but a few years I dwelt in the Halls of Turgon, and know little of the society of the Lords who are decidedly above me in the state of things. Egalmoth, Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch, is tolerable in ways. He loves all things that shine, and is fabulously rich. Despite the grievances his House has caused, he has a good nature. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower appears well meaning, in my eyes, but never could I remember his name and Lord Ecthelion is a righteous one."

"And after I am introduced?"

"No doubt they will hold council and have you stand before them, due to the circumstances."

* * *

><p>The silver doors opened and Tuor was led by the Door Warden of Turgon down the great hall to the Kings Throne. On each side of Turgon seven individuals stood, all in robes of the finest colours and cloth.<p>

"Tuor, son of Huor of the House of Hador, My King." He announced to Turgon, stepping aside as to let Tuor into view. Turgons eyes flickered to Voronwë, who stood at the doors. "Voronwë, Lord. The one who lead him here." Turgon raised his eyebrows and directed his speech to Voronwë.

"Peace to my thoughts is it now that all my emmisaries to Amen are accounted for, but the wisdom of your actions is still to be determined - do not forget." He warned. Voronwë bowed low, understanding perfectly. "_Mae G'ovannen, Tuor._" He now turned his attention to his guest. "Officaily you shall be recieved by us, and are welcomed as a friend of Gondolin."

"You honour me, Great King." Tuor spoke, and knew his endearment was true.

"Which is right." Turgon responded. "To my right you will find the first of the Lords you shall be introduced to." Tuors eyes went to the line on Turgons left as he began listing them. Each bowed to him and he did in turn bow to them. Recognition dawned in his eyes as Turgon reached Maeglin. All he recieved from him was a curt nod, and though usually Tuor would respond alike he recalled Voronwë's warning and bowed even lower than socially expected, though some would deem it sarcastic it was not intended to be. Then along the left assembly until Turgon drew to the end. Now Tuors eyes were drawn to the figure beside Turgon, standing upon the steps to his throne.

Clothed in soft blue robes that pooled about her feet love came into the life of Tuor. Her golden hair almost glowed in the light, it's glory cascading down her back and touching her hips - almost completely covered by a white gossamer train that hung from a silver crown that rested on her head. Her blue eyes felt like they were peircing his soul as he bowed to her and she nodded low.

"Tuor, this is the greatest treasure I am in posession of." Turgon announced. "My daughter, Idril Celebrindal of Gondolin."

"My Lady."

"Welcome to Gondolin, My Lord." She greeted him, ignoring the looks of mistrust Maeglin was throwing in the newcomers direction. The loathing would begin when her affection grew.

"And with that I shall end this introduction, I am afraid." Turgon concluded. "Come, Dear Lords, we shall hold council on pressing matters."


	2. He likes Her

FA 496

He likes Her

An hour prior to the moon reaching it's height the King retired to the royal apartments, and entered the Sambë óni Soronúmë to find his daughter and nephew within.

Idril sat by the fire, and by the light of it embroidered, occasionally needing to mover her hair that insisted on falling over her shoulder. Maeglin seemed content in observing his cousin at work, and resting his chin on his hand his dark eyes never left her until the entrance of his uncle.

"_Ae, Gwanur_." Maeglin smiled, rising.

"_Le suilon, Atar._" Idril greeted her father, also standing.

"My daughter, Maeglin." Turgon grinned, taking to his seat on the other side of the fireplace.

Not much else was talked of for much time, and soon the only noise to be heard was the crackling of the fire. Eventually Maeglin spoke, his eyes still resting on Idril.

"Whatever kept you from us, My Lord?" He inquired, hoping to sound disinterested. He had excused himself not long into the council, wishing not to be near such insufferable (in his opinion) people.

"The crys of the council." Turgon answered. "It seems though Ulmo has sent us a message it is not to be done, and many of the lords refuse to co-operate. There is much debate over the authenticity of the message, also."

"He is a mortal, after all." Idril commented, not looking up from her work.

"Itarillë." Turgon murmured, a warning tone come into his manner of speech. "I did not think you prejudice."

"I am not." She responded calmly. "But there are many lords who would very much distrust a mortal messenger that came out of no-where, insisting they remove themselves from their built up wealth without any explanation other than it is the will of the Valar."

"He likes you." Turgon and Idril both turned to Maeglin.

"I'm sure he does not, Cousin." Idril assured Maeglin dismissively, emphasising the word cousin.

"He did not take his eyes of you." He continued.

"Nor have you, and that means nothing." She pointed out sharply.

"I meant no offense."

* * *

><p>"What did you think of the Kings Halls?" Voronwë question Tuor over dinner.<p>

"The little I saw of it was magnificent." He told his friend.

"And what of the Lords?"

"Some seemed fair of heart, and others not quite so. All in all there is no decided fault in their society."

"And Lord Maeglin?" Voronwë challenged. "I do not think you much care for him, nay I declare you think him fell as much as you think Lady Idril fair."

"How could you suppose that I think the Lady fair?" Tuor argued, grinning.

"I noticed your attention towards her, that is all." His friend informed him. "And I thought it odd that Lord Maeglin proved so rude, open dislike is not really his strategy if what I hear tell of is founded on any truth."

"He disagreed with the decree of Ulmo." Tuor suggested.

"No, his wisdom is great (more's the pity). He understands that his wrath should be addressed to the sender, not the message bearer."

"Many don't understand that." Tuor allowed, turning his attention to his empty goblet.

"That Lord is certainly not one of many, though little I like him. He is skilled beyond his years-" The conversation was interrupted abruptly by the cries of an excited elfling.

"_Adar_! You're home! I missed you!" Ilfrin cried, bounding downstairs and throwing himself into his fathers arms.

"Hello, _ion nin_!" Voronwë laughed. "How are you?"

"Glad you're home." After his fathers extended absence the little one had been ecstatic every time he saw him, and somehow (when he should have been sleeping) discovered that Voronwë had returned from his smaller expedition to the Kings Halls.

"I think you should be in bed, little one." Voronwë commented. "Or do you want me to wake your mother?" Ilfrin visibly paled at the thought of his mother knowing he was awake. "I didn't think so, off to bed."

"I love you, Adar." Ilfrin told him, removing his arms from his fathers neck.

"I love you too." Voronwë grinned. "Excuse my son." He added as soon as the footsteps stopped.

"It's fine. He looks very much alike to your wife." Aewil, Voronwë's wife, had indeed passed on her looks to her son - being of a fair complexion and in the possession of beautiful brown hair that fell down in great tresses to her waist.

"He does, indeed, but come!" Voronwë cried, returning to their subject of discussion. "You must of really struck a nerve, but how?"

* * *

><p><em>"... From you and from me a new star will arise."<em>

The words prophesied by Huor hours before his death were still fresh in Maeglins memory, and more than ever he mulled over them - what did he mean by them? And what would the mortal do? High in the favour of the King was Huor, and so could his son take his place? And what did Tuor mean by staring at his Idril. _**That**_ was the problem. Idril was not his own, but little heed he paid the fact. In his mind Idril was unquestionably his. A new star... A new star...

* * *

><p><em>Sambë óni Soronúmë <em>- The Chamber of Soronúmë QUENYA - I thought it would be interesting to name the rooms in quenya, the noldors old language, perhaps for them to feel at home.

_Soronúmë_ - A constellation of Arda, that due to its meaning many believe it was the eauivelant of our constelation Aquila

_Ae_ - Ae is an exclamation of joy and surprise

_Gwanur_ - Kinsman or relative

_Le suilon_ - Greetings

_Atar_ - Father - QUENYA - Idril would adress her father in quenya, as that was what she knew him as.


	3. Her Constant Companion

Her Constant Companion

FA 496

" 'I give thee my heart, do with it as you will!' " Idril declared awkwardly, Maeglin smiled before opening his mouth to speak.

"No, no, no!" Turgon interrupted. "You are so inemotive, Itarillë! You don't sound as if you mean it at all!"

"That is fortunate, because I do not." Idril laughed.

"Inabillity to act is not fortunate." Turgon argued. "You once were absoloutely delightful in reading this! What has made you so awkward?"

"Perhaps you do not much care for this play, Cousin?" Maeglin suggested. "Uncle, perhaps we should read another romance? Íro and Almárien, perhaps?"

"No, indeed, I find this one very life like."

"The Tale of Lalarë and Raicon is life like?" Maeglin challenged. "Perhaps, but it is a minority of reality and could hardly be named a love story. The heroine is absoloutely heartless, and the man absoloutely heartbroken half the time."

"I could argue that representation, but I shan't-"

"Do!" Maeglin encouraged her, laughing.

"I would name Lalarë mournful of the circumstance, but as there is no possibility of affection from her side she feels obligated to reject him and Raicon must accept this - however, I will not continue arguing. Perhaps it is the gender roles that confuse me, I am used to being a female curiosly." Idril said, and Turgon agreed.

"Very well, I shall be Raicon and you Lalarë." Maeglin agreed and began the passage again. " 'I give thee my heart, Lalarë, do with it as you will!' "

"I am regretful of the grief I cause, Dear Raicon, but never I shalt never love thee!" Idril replied, and her enthusiasm was noted. She no longer sounded as though she was reading off the paper any more.

"It must have been the gender roles." Turgon declared approvingly.

"Of course." Maeglin murmured, his eyes meeting Idrils - which gained a scowl from her.

* * *

><p>The faint light of winter pooled into the almost empty council room and onto the table infront of the King.<p>

"What do you think of Tuor?" Turgon inquired, looking up from the paperwork before him, glancing to his nephew. The question took Maeglin by surprise.

"The Mortal? I do not feel right in his presence." He told Turgon. "I do not trust him."

"I do." Turgon murmured, his mind wondering about the world. "I don't know why..."

"I would advise against it, if it was my place, My Lord." His nephew told him.

"You would be right in thinking it's not." The King answered. He felt protective of the young mortal, and wished the best of him. He reminded Turgon of Huor, and he wished his liking would never need to end - no matter who else disagreed him.

"I can tell that not many of the other lords care for him, either." Maeglin added.

"That is not of my interest, I simply asked you of your opinion, My Nephew." Turgon frowned. This was a new side of Maeglin, and he was quite clearly not himself.

"Forgive me, My Lord. I was only indulging you in information I have acquired." Perhaps being restricted to indoors was causing him to become... Self important? Disagreeable? Turgon searched for the apt word.

* * *

><p>The Lords Maeglin and Salagant walked about the snow ladden gardens, musing over little things when the subject turned to love and lust.<p>

"I, personally, find there is little difference - yes, it is unpoetic but are not the plays intended for love sick elleths healing their sore hearts?"

"There could be truth in what you say." Maeglin allowed, though not really believeing his friend.

"But in the minds of women, at least, there is a difference." Salagant continued. "An elve must be mannered, gentle and really the essence of morality to even attract the attention of one. It is ridiculous."

"Indeed." Maeglin now looked across the garden to see his cousin gradualy walking beside the hedge, her lady in waiting beside her.

"But, there is a way other than that."

"Pray tell."

"Get to know her friends, to have an excuse to be around her as much as possible and have them tell you about her."

"Indeed?" Maeglin suddenly became interested."What exact success rate is that?"

"It always works." Salagant gauranteed. Maeglin turned to see Idril's companion, Glamrenil, laughing at a secret joke across the way.

"Her Lady Companion is fair." Salagant commented, nodding in Idrils direction.

"She is." Maeglin agreed, his eyes sub conciously focusing themselves on Idril. Feeling his gaze the maiden turned, and in her eyes he could detect scorn as they met his - before turning with such a speed it would be named rude and suggesting to Glamrenil that they should retire to indoors, as it was beginning to snow again (it was Rhîw after all).

* * *

><p>Lalarë - To deny<p>

Raicon - Crooked/Wrong

Glamrenil - Echoing

Rhîw - Winter


	4. Winter Celebrations

**_For those of you who have read my other works you will note a difference in Glorfindels personaniliy. Because he was seperated from his whole life in Valinor, I think he would become a little sombere, and time may make him a happier person (and making fun of Erestor)_**

Winter Celebrations

_FA 496_

Tuor had spent the first two nights of Yenearsira with Voronwë and his family, and took great delight in seeing Little Ilfrins face lighting up as he opened his gifts and hugging his two elder sisters and parents thoroughly joyful. It was, after all, a family time above all - but on the fourth night he and his friend were petitioned to attend the feast that Turgon was holding. Voronwë declined, not wanting to miss another moment of being with his children, but Tuor did not really have anything he was obliged to do and Voronwë urged him to attend. And so Turgon himself welcomed Tuor again to his halls, and urging him and Idril to converse he left the pair alone in the Great Hall.

"It has snowed heavily the past few days." Tuor began, searching for a topic of conversation.

"Pray do not tell me of the weather, My Lord." Idril asked of him. "I mean no offense, but only dull people talk of the weather."

"And how do you know I am not a dull person?" Tuor inquired, grinning at her bluntness.

"The Valar chose you of all people to deliver a message that could save a city." She answered. "One hardly could be named dull after that."

"What would you have me talk of, My Lady?" He questioned.

"You were in Vinyamar, I hear tell?"

"I was indeed."

"How is it, now?" Tuor suspected that she intended to ask him of her old home from the beginning, which was understandable.

"It is, in large part, still intact in buildings - but the many things that grew on the many terraces have overgrown and have taken to inhabiting the houses."

"How did you care for it? How was the sea?" It was great pain to think of the sea for many elves, but Idril longed for the smell of salt and the feel of the waves about her feet.

"Beautiful." He confessed. "Absolutely beautiful."

"Then it hasn't changed." Idril had a wistful looked in her eye, which was broken by the call to eat. Soon Tuor found that Turgon had arranged for him be seated beside Idril, as she knew him little, and so the conversation continued.

* * *

><p>Many topics they discussed, and learnt much about eachother. Then dancing was called for, and it was customary for Idril to open the night with her cousin, and triumphantly Maeglin appeared. Almost reluctantly Idril stood, and politely excused herself from his presence as her cousin took her hand in his.<p>

"You seem to be taken with the mortal, Idril." He observed, as he led her to the space between the many tables.

"I do not know what you mean." All she had in feelings towards the young man was a natural curiosity to be felt of any mortal that appeared in an elven city with news of her earlier home and a message from a Vala.

"You have not ceased talking to him all evening."

"Well, we **_were_** seated beside each other, Cousin, it would have been rude to not talk to him - and what business is it of yours who I talk to?" She told him.

"I am concerned for you."

"Then, surely, you would understand that I may talk to whomever I please as long as they make good company." Idril laughed as the dance began.

"_**Does**_ he make good company?" Maeglin challenged, highly doubting what conversing with a mortal had to offer.

"Delightful company." Her sentences were now short, indicating how her temper was becoming.

"I do not trust him." He murmured, lifting his arm for her to twirl.

"Because he is different from the rest of us?" Idril guessed. "Many mistrusted you because of that same reason, and it is a fools way to form an opinion. If you were to distrust someone it should be related to their moral core, not their background or race."

"The very image of morality our Idril makes herself out as." Maeglin's voice was low, willfully misunderstanding her meaning.

"I do not feel obligated to correct you on your latest statement, you know of it's lack of honesty."

* * *

><p>Tuor watched Idril dancing with her cousin, wondering if he was the only one to notice how uncomfortable Idril was in Maeglins arms. It was not as if either of their movements were awkward, the pair being the very image of grace, but for Idril at least there was something clearly off. Perhaps she cared not for dancing. Not long after the dance began he was roped into conversation with the elve to his left and his fair haired companion.<p>

"What say you, Lord, on dancing?" Ecthelion questioned, turning to Tuor. The mortal was taken completely by surprise at the inquiry, and fumbled as he replied.

"I can not express a particular liking for it, My Lord." He confessed honestly. "It is, as many things often are, very much dependent on who you are doing it with."

"A sensible answer, dancing is after all but completely pointless." Ecthelions companion noted, causing the elven lord to roll his eyes ungraciously.

"You are absolutely no fun, Glorfindel." He told him. "Do not pay any attention to my friend, My Lord, he takes no joy in anything." Ecthelion begged, now addressing Tuor.

"While I will give him attention, I hope I may have the luxury to disagree with him."

"You do." The elve allowed. Then Tuors eyes returned to their place with a golden haired elven maiden, watching her graceful moments as her red dress fluttered about in the dance - a striking difference to Maeglins green-blue garments.


	5. A Conversation

A Conversation

FA 496

As the celebrations came to a close Tuor find himself invited to the Royal Apartments, a great honour for someone alike to him. There the elves would tell tales and remember old times, as well as play music and read poetry aloud. The only light provided was firelight, so Tuor kept to his seat in the corner.

As it was Sambë óni Anarríma, the great constellation was depicted in the ceiling above, and he searched for it, before Idrils voice turned his train of thought to her as she began to read aloud an epic. He could not catch the story line, poetic exaggeration and euphemisms being lost on him, but the final lines left a darkening on his mind.

"And so he came to Arda Marred. Arda Marred. Arda Marred." Tuor joined in with the complimentry clapping that was to be expected, and as it died down and Idril returned to her original seat beside her father he lost interest in the events of the room - Maeglins reading being entirely abandoned as the elven lord took up his book.

Though neither Tuor nor Idril were seated in great lighting, the elven maiden posessed the keen eyes of her people and often they were set on the mortal. After a while she pondered taking the seat beside him, before devising a more casual way of doing so.

Taking a turn about the room she dithered about the small window not far from Tuor, and after a while politely inquired as to if she could sit beside him, and he was in no position to refuse her.

"You read well." He commented, wishing to start conversation with Idril.

"I am sure that is atleast partly sarcasm." She laughed, shaking her head.

"Only but a little." Tuor allowed.

"No, indeed, I will never excel in giving great speeches or readings." Idril agreed. Then came a slight lull in the conversation, and as his eyes went to Maeglin Tuor spoke.

"Your cousin reads well." He noted.

"Indeed." She replied. "Now, there is someone who can make you feel something when giving speeches and reading dull, pointless poetry."

"You make people feel something, also." Tuor argued. "You simply have no enthusiasm concerning reading aloud." Idril blushed, and with a small laugh cast the comment aside. This attracted the attention of her cousin, pausing to glance in the pairs direction.

"You prove to excel in casual flattery, My Lord!" She cried. "No wonder it is that my father wishes to keep you close!"

"I am afraid I am not." He dismissed. "A flatterer posesses the ability to hold his tongue when neccessary and exaggerate the fairer points of his subject when required."

"And you?"

"I regret to say that my greatest fault is being absoloutely incapable of doing anything but speak my mind."

"Oh dear." She murmured, in a teasing manner. "That is a failing, indeed, and one that can not be masked nor put to good use."

"You mock me." He grinned.

"I do." She answered, returning his smile.

"And here I was thinking you the epitome of perfection."

"You have clearly been grossly misleaded." She assured him, heat going to her cheeks - though she had been named perfect often enough to be able to tolerate it. "If you do not flatter then you flirt, My Lord."

"Not intentionally, My Lady."

"Of course not."

* * *

><p>Some of the Lords noted Idrils companion, but few gave any heed to it. She was the Lady of Gondolin, after all, and he a common mortal (any ancestry unrelated to the Eldar was often deemed worthless in their sight). But Maeglin noticed, and like rapid fire his mind was torn from wisdom - jealousy and envy raging within. And so as the company retired (the large part of it) and the servants began to dim the tapers Maeglin cornered her.<p>

"My Lord, take your hands off of me." Lady Glamrenil ordered, referring to Maeglins steady hands resting on her shoulders. Maeglin did so. "Why am I trapped up against a wall, My Lord?" Maeglin could hear her heart pounding and her breathing becoming rapid. She was scared, very scared.

"You are Idrils companion." He stated, and she nodded. "I want you to inform me of everything she does-" She began to object, but Maeglin looked at her darkly and she was silenced. "What she talks about, how she feelsm where she goes and who she speaks to."

"What reason do you give me for doing this?" She demanded.

"Her Ladyships safety could be in danger." Maeglin lied. "You will be rewarded well for this service." Already Maeglin could see the expressions of resoloution in her eyes begin to dwindle.

"I don't have a choice do I?"

"No. Every night you will send me a message detailing exactly who my cousin has talked, of what and who she intends to meet again, where she went, what she did - as well as any other information, even bed fellows, I want to know."

"Surely that is priva-"

"When safety is concerned privacy can not be maintained, My Lady."


	6. The Dreaded Night Vision

_**LalaithElerrina, Guest and AmazingWriter123 thankyou for commenting! LalaithElerrina, on if he really loved her I agree with that, if not whole heartedly. In this fic I'm angling it more to an obsession than real love. I think everyone knows he's not a great person.**_

_FA 496_

The Dreaded Night Vision

The Gardens of the King were fair, but little did they reflect the outside world. Sheltered were the roses, and heavily nurtured so that in their bloom they reached their full potential. The treacherous ivy is oft non-existent in the gardens, and if it does live their it is usually as a ploy to make things seem to have struggled and therefore underline their beauty. Alike to The Kings Gardens are The Kings Halls. The things that inhabit them are treated the same way, and seen as exactly the same. One common mistake is to forget that all roses have thorns.

Idril, unlike the many female courtiers that clung to her, had experienced the struggles that war brought, and the tragedies that followed blind dedication. Though she was raised in luxurious halls, and dressed in the finest silks, she had no title that could of made her proud or conceited. Little things she did ill, and fewer things people believed she did ill. Yet much haunted her, and Maeglin, by persuading Glamrenil, would soon know all of it.

The Crossing of Helcaraxë would forever be imprinted in the minds of the noldor, most especially her. Once or twice a month she would waken, in a cold sweat (occasionally screaming) from a constant night vision that plagued her. A horrific memory that had tormented her for years on end.

Just as she slipped into unconsciousness she would feel her slender fingers go cold, and she was back on the grinding ice.

Curufins wife, Sairë, had spotted a _fánahelf_. A few strayed off course, Celegorm wanting to catch the _fánahelf_ pup, and as the _fánahelf_ make holes in the ice in the thinner patches where it is easier to cut through it was already too dangerous. It didn't occur to her, atleast, that something could go ill. Having revisited the cursed event over and over in her waking mind and dark dreams she noted that one particular person knew it wasn't safe. Her mother had never left her side through out the time that the small party ventured off as they began to set up camp. Idril experienced the same feelings she did then. The jolt of her heart as the ice moved from underneath her feet, the shout that had escaped her lips unwilled as the shelf went on a diagonal and the blood curdling screech that had come from her mother as the frozen water reached her feet. Scrambling as she tried to grip onto the ice that was buckling from underneath them. And then she was chest deep in the frigid water and her furs and cloaks were pulling her down. She kept kicking and kicking, but she was panicking and not a single bout of energy was conserved in the minute she was fighting to stay above the water line. Then she gave up, and she began to sink. It was Elenwë that was forcing her up, keeping her alive.

She was surrounded by her kin, crying in fear to their loved ones and in the chaos they were pushing others under in a bid to survive. Idril was being jostled and pulled, and another movement of the ice caused for the water gap was far smaller. Before she knew it she was trapped underneath the ice. She could even see feet above her, and heard the groaning of the thin ice taking their weight. She began clawing at the ice, and hitting it, to no avail. Idril, at the time, did not understand that it was her mother dragging her to the side and so fought her - but she wasn't strong enough. Through the ice light from the new sun shone down, making it seem like a green light, fading. As the pale green light slowly faded and everything went black, and she began to feel nothing but the numbing cold. That was where Idril lost count, and she awoke, screaming.

Glamrenil, who as one of the Lady Companions of Idril was sleeping in an antechamber nearby, rushed in with Miluineth and Faerveren at her heels. Miluineth wrapped her arms about her friend, gently rocking her as she sobbed into her shoulder and Faerveren sang softly. Glamrenil light a taper by using a thin wooden faggot from beside the fire place, and brought it over to Idrils bedside.

"_Áva sorya, Itarillë_." Miluineth murmured, speaking in their mother tongue. "Everything is fine." No. Not everything was fine. She was motherless and alone, not even two minutes away from her cousin, who she both loathed and feared.

She had not woken for two days after the breaking of the ice, but Miluineth and Faerveren were tasked to tell her of what happened. At the time her father was not able to move from his bed, partly out of grief. As Turgons hands found her and her mother gave one last push up for her, using up her remaining strength. Turgon lost sight of her for instant as he pulled his daughter up onto the ice, and there she lay in a ball half frozen and half drowned coughing up water for long a time. When he turned around she was gone, and crying aloud he looked for her. Her golden hair stood out among the noldor, who were largely dark haired, and he saw her hair just beside the edge of the gap in the ice. He nearly died trying to save her, but she was long gone by the time she was recovered - and Idril saw her for the last time pale and dead like, with a thin layer of ice frozen over her skin. Long she blamed herself, and Fëanor, knowing that Elenwë had given her life for her and they would not of needed to cross Helcaraxë if not for her uncle.

* * *

><p>Áva Sorya - Do not fear<p>

Sairë - NAME - Wise One

Faerveren - NAME - Joyous Spirit (Alassë - Joy in Quenya)

Miluineth - NAME - Friendly, Loving or Kind girl (Nildë in Quenya)

_Fánahelf_ - Literal Meaning is White Fur - My equivelant of a fur seal, but many animals in Valinor are white so a white furred breed of seal, basically. The pups are white, anyway.


	7. A Chance Meeting

**Authors Note**

_**Thank You, AmazingWriter123 and Tolkien Sawg for you reviews on my latest chapter! **_

_**Concerning the family titles (such as cousin and uncle) these are not literal, as most of you would understand. Finrod, Aegnor and Angrod are, technically speaking, her second cousins as opposed to uncles - but age would most likely count in ways you showed respect to family and cousin implies that you are equals. Orodreth, however, is her cousin and the only cousin of her generation born before the second age other than Celebrimbor.**_

_**Also, while elves have better hearing than mortals no one can stay in touch with all their senses at once, especially when they are distracted. **_

FA 496

A Chance Meeting

Celebrindal, they named her. Her people. Few asked why. Her fathers cousin, Artanis, had given her that name. It meant silver foot, and was given after she discovered a curious habit of her young friends. After the horrors of Helcaraxë, Idril had taken to walking in feet unclad everywhere she went. Perhaps it allowed her to forget the memory of the frigid cold by her feet being free of constraints, which was impossible on the Grinding Ice, and that they are always warme by the feel of stone that was heated by pure sunlight.

And so Artanis named her Silver foot, and though it was a petty secret it was well kept and did not really have a chance to reveal itself, her dresses being long hemmed and always trailing on the ground. So petty was this secret, if it was that, Glamrenil did not even think to tell Maeglin of it in her accounts he had her give every day. They were often very similar, and more often than not bringing no new information to Maeglin - but he knew that it would pay off for him to know what she did, eventually.

* * *

><p>One day, as she often did, Idril practiced her music in the Sambë óni Lótë - an airy room that was a welcome place to spend the beginnings of spring, for so it was. The fell winter was entirely gone, and the icy bite it had posessed was already reduced to nothing more than a slight layer of cold over particular metals in the very early morning. While Faerveren sung, Glamrenil played her flute and Miluineth her viol Idril played her harp. To many it was simply a beautiful thing, an instrument of pale wood that were fashioned to liken to great birds, and in delicate fëanorian characters were written a name that few had dared to utter in Idrils presence since she recieved the instrument.<p>

Salagant often cared to tarry in the halls outside and listen to the music that came from the four maidens. When the music was silenced he would hurry on to the council rooms, and the four would take up weaving and embroidery. It was tradition in Turgons halls to display tapestries that tell the tales of the House of Finwë (though the doings of the Sons of Fëanor were ommited from the walls) and with the death of their kin in the sack of Nargothrond Idril was duty bound to weave a cloth in their memory.

So many of her kin were now dead. Her Uncles: Finrod, Aegnor, Angrod, Fingon and Arakáno, Her Cousins: Orodreth and his daughter Finduilas, _Túra Atar Fingolfin_, Her Aunt Aredhel... Her mother. Her closest relatives were her father, Maeglin and her grandmother, _Túra Ammë Anairë_, who was far from them all - having chosen to remain in Valinor. With these thoughts and memories within her head she began to feel unwell, and stood - suprising herself. Her three ladies proceeded to stand.

"Itarillë?" Miluineth frowned, looking from her embroidery to her friend. "What is it, _Meldë_?"

"My Lady?" Faerveren seemed very concerned, her brows creasing slightly and her eyes enlarging.

"I am fine, Alassë." Idril smiled assuringly, before directing her attention to Muluineth. "I have a sudden headache, Nildë, nothing that couldn't be remedied by fresh air - of course - but it is causing severe pain."

"We shall take a turn about the gardens with you, _Arwen en amin_." Glamrenil suggested, laying down her needle work.

"Nay, remain here." Idril answered weakly. "I shall be but a little while, and the silence shall clear my head more swiftly."

* * *

><p>The soothing noise of water lapping at stone reached Idrils ears as she walked about the terraces, barely resisting the urge to stand in the large fountains basin and swirl her feet about in the water. Instead she permitted her hands to run under the thin curtain of water, alike to thousands of tiny crystals sparkling in the sun light.<p>

The smells of spring surrounded her, and so she felt the world absoloutely slient - though it was not so. Raising her rainment above her ankles (having to drape the material partially over her elbow to do so) she slid her bare feet into the cold water with a sigh of contentedness. She closed her eyes for a moment, unconciously forcing herself to notice her hearing - and she detected the steady heartbeat and breathing pattern of someone not far from her. Her eyes flew open on instinct.

* * *

><p>As Tuor rounded the corner he caught sight of a blue robed figure of slender build, partially in the fountain pool. Even as he came to a hault his eyes met the peircing gaze of Idril. Her eyes held his gaze for long a time, until she spoke in a halting whisper to him.<p>

"It has been a while since last we met, My Lord." She murmured and he agreed. Hastily she withdrew her foot from the pool and dropped her skirts, wondering if he had noted her lack of shoes. "Would you care to walk with me?" She inquired, extending her arm. She knew not why, but she wanted to spend more time with this young mortal. He took her arm and they continued on for a while in silence. "What brings you here, My Lord, if you mind me not asking?"

"His Majesty summoned me, My Lady." He responded, his voice quiet.

"And pray, what caused you to leave him?"

"Your Ladyship, it seems, intends to make a study of me!" He laughed, taking her questions good naturedly. "You Lord Cousin himself suggested I excuse myself and admire the gardens while they discuss matters not fit for a mortals ears."

"Did he say that?" She questioned, frowning.

"He did, indeed, My Lady." There was a short pause, which he saw fit to fill with: "I note you do not defend him in is words."

"I have no inclination to do so." She confessed. "Nor could I say he meant it not, for he so surely does."

"Indeed?"

"I apoligise, on behalf of the King, that you have been injured so."

"You need not apoligise to me for anything, Your Ladyship."

* * *

><p>As the evening meal was laid before them, Turgon addressed Idril with a notion he was contemplating.<p>

"Itarillë, what do you say of Lord Tuor?" Idril, taken aback by the question, did not reply immediatly. Maeglin seized his chance, and began talking in his cousins stead.

"I do not believe him trustworthy, My Lor-"

"I know of your opinion, My Son." Turgon told his nephew. "And I respect it, but I would like a second. Idril?"

"Thank you, _Atar_." Idril replied. "I know him a little, and I feel he is a good hearted person."

"I would agree with you on that - and so I have come to a decision." Maeglin looked almost offended, and from then on only spoke of his opinion of Tuor infront of Idril - who's opinion of Tuor he tried to change for many years. "I intend to give Tuor apartments in the palace."

* * *

><p><em>Túra Atar <em>- Grand Father (taken from Túra, great, and Atar, father)

_Túra Ammë_ - Grand Mother (see Túra Atar)

_Lótë_ - Flower - QUENYA

_Meldë_ - Friend - QUENYA

Alassë - Quenyan equivelant of Faerveren. They knew eachother in Valinor, so they would sddress by their original names

Nildë - Quenyan equivelant of Miluineth


	8. The Possibilities

The Possibilities

**Authors Note**

**_On formal references to close family members, it is necessary to keep polite formality in the company of non family members in history so I would assume so in Arda._**

Idril sat, as she often did, in the window seat not far from her bed side that had a view of the west of the city and to the mountains beyond it. She watched the western sky, and her thoughst went to Valinor, and her family left behind there.

"How was your day, My Lady?" Glamrenil asked her friend, upon entering Idrils bedchamber. Gaining no reply, she promted her through using her name. "Idril?" Suddenly aware of Glamrenils presence, Idril turned from the window to face her.

"I'm sorry, Glamrenil." She apoligised, unwillingly focusing on her. "What was it you were saying?"

"Did you enjoy the day, My Lady Idril?" She repeated.

"I did, indeed, and you?" The Lady answered, leaving the window in an elegant motion - her garments movements slightly exposing her feet as she walked - and undressing behind the draped frame.

"Very much so, I thank you for asking, _Arwen en amin._" There was a slight pause, and a silence broken by the sound of delicate fabric meeting the stone floor.

"My Lord Father intends for the Lord Tuor to take up rooms in the palace." Idril mentioned, hoping to return to conversation.

"In the Kings Quarters, My Lady?" Glamrenil inquired, curious. Maeglin would probably know already if it was so, did she need to report back to him before she retired?

"I know not. I would assume not so, however His Majesty has taken a distinct liking to him." The princess informed her, speculating herself as she shrugged off her remaining small clothes.

"So-"

"I would not bet against his positioning in the Kings Quarters." Idril explained.

"A Runner came today, My Lady." Glamrenil recalled, laying an extra throw at the foot of Idrils bed. Really, Miluineth was directed to talk to Idril and to deliver to her letters, but this one had been entrusted to her - why should she refrain from giving it to Idril? Glamrenil was keenly aware of the heirarchy of the Ladies in Waiting that was in position in the household. Miluineth was the Head Lady, and was entrusted with the care of Idrils correspondences, overseeing the household and the primary care of her wardrobe. Faerveren was more of the official companion, charged (unofficially) with the task of keeping her ladyship abreast with the intrigues of the court. And Glamrenil, herself, was charged with the upkeep of Idrils chambers and lower lady of the robes. But surely Idril would not question this?

"A Runner?"

"A Dispatch from Menegroth, _Arwen en amin_. One came for you."

"Nildë did not notify me of any." Idril appeared from behind the frame.

"It's on your night stand." Glamrenil told her and Idril reached across her bed and climbed

"What delayed you so, My Lady? - if it be not rude my asking." Glamrenil inquired, lighting the lamp that would stand on the mantle of the fire. Her eyes flicked to Idril as she turned, her white night gown the only thing keeping her warm as she sat on the bed, her knees hugged to her chest.

"In what?" Idril laughed, bemused as she looked up from her letter.

"In returning to us after your hunt for fresh air, undoubtedly you found it swiftly." Glamrenil explained.

"I encountered My Lord Tuor in the gardens, if I am to be honest." Idril confessed. "And we talked for the beter part of the afternoon."

"Surely he could not offer so much conversation!" Glamrenil could not help but laugh at the concept.

"It seems he can, _Mellon_." Idril told her. "Believe me, I was quite as stunned as you are the notion."

"You know him well, My Lady?"

"I would very much hope to be a close aquaintence, I do believe." She admitted. "Rest now, Glamrenil." She ended, suggesting the conversation was at a close. Taking the suggestion, Glamrenil nodded in respect and backed to the doorway.

"Rest well, My Lady."

* * *

><p>Tuor was aware he had outstayed his welcome. Aewil and Voronwë bickered long into the night over his presence as he sat in his chamber, unintentionally listening. Well, he was listening - he had really no choice. The walls failed utterly in blocking sound out.<p>

The Lady of the House had originally been accomodating. Tuor had saved her husbands life, and was her husbands friend. Yet a deep seated mistrust clung to her, naturally. Mortals, themseves, were gravely suspicious of the doings of elves - why should it not be so with the elven folk?

In his heart, Voronwë agreed with his lady wife. He loved Tuor like a brother, but he needed to find somewhere else. But where would he go? He knew no one. This same fact should have been knawing away at Tuor, but it wasn't. The seriousness could not become stone cold reality. His mind was occupied thoughts concerning beautiful flowers and a fairer maiden. Long had they talked, and of many things. It was suprising how close he felt to this strange elve maiden, though how little time he had spent in her company.

Somehow they had come upon the subject of mothers. Idril had explained the tradgic circumstances that surrounded her mothers absence, and he had felt her sorrow deeply. In turn he had shared with her all he knew of Rían (self admittedly little).

He remembered, vaguely, the feeling of warmth and safety, and an overwhelming brightness. And then it was gone, and he felt scared. The fear was the thing that he recalled most strongly - which made Idril feel a sort of empathy for him.

He wanted to learn more about Idril, he realised. He wanted to spend more time with her. And he had the feeling that she wanted to get to know him a little better too.


	9. Beautiful Envy

**Authors Note**

_**I'm sorry for not updating in so long! It's been absoloutely ages! I'm just getting trailed off of the line of the story, as one tends to do. I hope you like this chapter, it was a long time coming.**_

Beautiful Envy

FA 498

After his apartments were prepared Tuor was moved in and Turgon was visably happy in his presence. Within weeks he was elevated to the High Council, to Maeglins intense disaproval. Due to his growing influence he met morpeople, and after a while Maeglin was the only person in posession of a poor opinion of him. And so he kept his opinions to himself, not wishing to lose favour with those who had come to love Tuor.

Mid Summers Day came, and in the Great Hall a large number had gathered to sing, dance, feast and make merry. Everything had changed from the days of winter, Tuor recalling the first festival he saw in the Kings Halls. The twelve oak doors running down each side of the hall, six on the left and six on the right, had even been unhinged and stored in a dry cellar - leaving only pale silk drapes between the arches, pulled aside more often than not to allow the lights of the heavens through. This night they had been blessed with wind, and the silk floated, pulling slightly at their teters as they danced delicately, in mid air.

Turgon sat upon his throne, garbed in brilliant, but light, attire and to his left Idril stood, an image of unearthly perfection. She was dressed in all white in flowing robes that seemed to almost melt into the air.

No jewel was upon her hands or head, nor about her neck. A simple circlet of woven silver adorned her brow and a veil of white gossamer that wrapped around her frame was joined to it, ending at her temples so that her sight was not hindered. Maeglin sat to the right of his esteemed uncle, on a higher step than Idril, a figure of dark garbs despite the season and the given day. Their keen eyes watched the dancing and laughing from their raised platform, and as soon as Tuor wntered their eyes were on him. Turgon with his calculating stare, Idri with her encouraging glance and Maeglin with his menacing glare.

"Approach, Tuor son of Huor." Turgon spoke, and Tuor complied, bowing his head as he did so. "You are a little late to the festivities, the food has been put away, I am afraid. For a moment I wondered wether or not you were even attending."

"I beg your pardon of this greiviance, Your Grace. I was attending to a friend and quite forgot this engagement."

"You have it, but come! Will you not stand by me, or would you rather dance?"

"I have no particular preference, Your Grace."Maeglin, dance with my lady daughter would you?" Turgon asked, turning to his nephew. Maeglin eagerly followed "his instructions, ofdering his arm to his cousin with no small amount of pleasure. "Be seated, and then we shall talk."

Miluineth gently removed Idrils crown and veil. Idril was not happy with the arrangements, Tuor noticed and he almost felt envious of the fact it was Maeglins arm about her waist, not his.

* * *

><p>After Turgon had his discussion with Tuor, but before Maeglin had released his cousin from the odious task of dancing with him, Faerverens hand was offered in a manner which Tuor could not refuse.<p>

Seeing the young silvan maiden, her brown hair flowing about her as she spun about with Tuor watching her every move in what Idril thought resembled a loving way. What she was unaware of was that he was not looking to his partner, but to her. Every movement of hers was admired by his deep brown eyes. She wasn't particularily _envious_ of Faerveren, as it were. More... curious as to how it felt to be subject of such a glance. She knew she had been a reciever of particular glances, but they weren't loving - they were more lustful than loving whenever she asessed them.

Maeglins eyes narrowed as he saw her sight go in Tuors direction.

"What is so interesting, Idril?" He asked, his voice sharp.

"Nothing, Cousin." Idril answered, not even attempting to sound warm.

"I wish you would not call me cousin, Dearest Idril."

"I wish you would not call me dearest, Cousin." She very much liked to highlight their relationship in blood. He didn't like her doing that.

* * *

><p>What could you do, if you became close friends with the most beautiful woman you had ever met, only to discover that you had never felt a single ounce of friendliness towards her? What do you do, if you realise you are in love with a woman that you can never confess your feelings to?<p>

Even as Tuor danced with Faerveren he understood that he had loved Idril since the first day he laid eyes on her. He also understood that Idril would disdain any advances he made, and Maeglin was... interested, to say the least. Tuor had been raised with elves, and understood well the laws of that people. No kin may wed if they are as close, or closer, as cousins. That was a universal law through out all elven societies, in most second cousins unions were banned - and in all frowned on. And so he was disgusted at the relisation that Maeglin lusted for his own cousins, and concerned for Idril more than ever. Maeglin was not fair of heart, he understood that.

His stream of epiphonies were ended by a worried looking runner boy reaching Turgons thrones and silence fell.

"All Heads of the Houses to the Council Chambers." The King ordered, standing. "Tuor, come with me."


	10. I Could Never Hate You

I Could Never Hate You

FA 498

Orc scouts had been seen on the borders of the mountain ranges. This seems little news, but to the Gondolindrim it was a heavy blow. So far west, six orc packs had been sighted. Scouts. It meant Morgoth was searching for the city, and he was not so far off.

And more were coming. The very night of the feast Turgon sent out rangers, and by all reports more were coming. And again the lords were summoned to the chambers, and Tuor, and there they debated their following actions to these tidings.

Rog, Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, wanted to send out half of Gondolins full strength and teach the orcs to fear the valley. Ecthelion, with the House of the Fountain at his back, thought the suggestion absurd - as it would confirm the whereabouts of the hidden city and that their only hope against Morgoth would be secrecy. Instead, Ecthelion suggested they send out twenty or so bowman to eradicate the orc packs individually.

Of course, Duilin assumed that Ecthelion was _instructing_ him on what to do and as a result declared that there was absoloutely no chance of any archer of the House of the Swallow passing through the gates without his leave, which he with held. All eyes turned to Egalmoth, his house (The House of the Heavenly Arch) having the only remaining bows. He viewed such expeditions as unnecessary expenses, and was against any forces being released, most especially his own.

Salagant, of the House of the Harp, argued that they could easily ignore the scouts, being only few in number. He clearly did not grasp the meaning of scouting entirely, but Maeglin still gave support to this "even more impossibly ridiculous concept" in Ecthelions words.

Penlod, of the two houses of the Pillar and the Tower of Snow, doubted the wisdom of fighting them, but atleast understood that they needed to do something concerning the scouting parties.

* * *

><p>It was Glorfindil that supposed that they could send a small force, that could cross the mountains far to the south and then gradually exterminate the orcs as they came down from the northern borders. Galdor, of the House of the Tree, gave his immediate support - offering five and ten of his best men. The House of the Golden Flower would give twenty (Glorfindel would never allow himself to be out done, even by friends!).<p>

Turgon tool a vote from the Lords, with the result of four of them wishing to find another way, and five throwing support to Glorfindil's idea. And so Turgon gave twenty of his personal gaurd, Glorfindil gave twenty swords (then after the kings announcement threw in five spears), Ecthelion gave seventeen swords, Galdor gave nine swords, two bows and two spears, Duilin would give thirty of the best archers and Egalmoth would arrange for ten additional bowmen.

Turgon continued to allow that thirty five or so men from the House of the Wing could be found, though who would lead them was questioned greatly. When Maeglin volounteered for the post, Glorfindil openly mocked him.

"You would be commanding your own house in the attack, My Lord!" He cried. "Oh wait... I suppose you'll be commanding your house to do nothing, like every time you are actually on the field." There was some laughter, silenced by Turgons "that'll do". He wasn't amused, clearly.

Maeglin even thought it was a joke when Turgon suggested Tuor. The mortal, who had been standing in a corner watching the entire time was completely taken by suprise.

"Your Grace, their must be some mistake-" He began, but what cut off by Maeglins cry of fury at understanding his uncle was honestly considering him.

"He's a mortal!" He cried, rage clear on his face.

"A Lotal Mortal, son of a Mortal just as loyal." Turgon told his nephew, and Maeglin recovered from his outcry as if someone had tipped water over his head.

"Yes, Your Grace."

* * *

><p>The following week, the night before the party set off, Turgon, after having understood he and Maeglin would both be required to make some final organisations, called for Tuor to dine with Idril - fearing his daughter would not care for being alone.<p>

In actual fact she bore being alone very well, but none the less she was glad of her friends presence. Somehow, after a slight lull in discussion, the conversation turned to Idrils cousin - though neither of them could remember who initiated the exchange.

"He was against me leading-"

"I heard of that." Idril told him without letting him finish.

"Why does he dislike me so, I often wonder." He confessed to her, as she filled his goblet with wine.

"Do you want his approval, _Mellon_?" She inquired. He paused for a while, before shaking his head slowly. "Then be not concerned by his reasoning, otherwise you'll try and fix hour short comings - and that can drive one mad."

"As he always been the way he is?" He asked.

"The way he is? Do you attempt to refer to his incredible capability to have almost everyone instantly love him?"

"Everyone except you, My Lady." It must have been the wine that made his words flow easier from his thoughts and onto his tongue, otherwiseS he would have never alluded...

"What would make you even suggest that I have anything but a lovng will towards my dearest cousin?" She laughed. "He doesn't like being second favourite, nor do I." She muttered, looking off into the distance and she readied her goblet to drink. "When he first came here I was always with my father, he alway sought _my_ council, _my_ opinions. Them slowly, Maeglin took full attention. No at feasts he sits on his right, I on his left and at formal receptions I stand to his left, on a lower step than my dearest cousin."

"That would have been difficult to bare." Tuor murmured, reaching for her hand that lay on the table and she allowed him to hold it and gifted him a now often unseen smile.

"It is not all bad." She allowed. "For instance I am permitted to remain here in peace and entertain cherised aquaintences while my father and him are kept busy." She realised she didn't want him to let go of her hand, and he didn't - though she never told him not to. "There have been, however, whispers." Her eyes went moist, the candle light bouncing off them as Tuor held her gaze. "That he will need to declare an heir in due time, and well... Some would rather have his nephew as their king if - Elbereth may it not be so - anything should happen to my father, rather than his only child."

"I wouldn't." He told her and she laughed.

"If only more people were like minded. Your presence here, helps or doesn't help the matter, however."

"How so?" He frowned, concerned.

"There are only two places of favour at the kings side. With you rising higher and higher in his esteem every day he will soon replace one of us with you. You are forcing his hand, _Mellon_."

"Do you hate me for that?" He asked, terrified of the answer.

"I could never hate you, Tuor."


End file.
